Page 23 of Charming the Orc's Mate

To him. To our home.

The memory of our father.

“And all this?” He gestured vaguely toward the gathering crowd and tents lining the street.

My jaw clenched. “I won’t let that snake steal anything from her.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” There was no accusation in Osen’s tone, just genuine curiosity. “I could have?—”

“I know.” I cut him off, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “I needed to prove I could do this. To myself. And to her.” I met his eyes. “Not as the chief’s brother. Just... me. That I can show up. Be reliable. Make things happen.”

Understanding dawned in his expression. He knew better than anyone how I’d struggled with that—being the flaky younger brother, the dreamer, the one who needed extra deadline padding.

Pride shone in Osen’s eyes, and he clasped my shoulder. “The orc you’ve become... Father would be proud.” He squeezed once before releasing me. “You take lead on this. Whatever you need from the clan, just say the word.”

I nodded, throat suddenly tight. I hadn’t realized how much I needed his approval until that moment. “Thanks, brother.”

“So.” He jerked his chin toward the gathering. “Ready to show your mate what you’ve been plotting?”

A grin spread across my face. “Let’s go save a bookstore.”

The past three days had been a whirlwind of secret meetings and called-in favors. Beverly’s book club mobilizing their considerable social influence. Miranda brewing specialty potions for Poppy’s baked goods. The twins strong-arming—sometimes literally—reluctant participants into cooperation.

All coming together for one spectacular “Save Spines & Spirits” block party.

Complete with local vendor booths, live music, and a silent auction featuring work from every artisan in town. Even Galan had contributed a piece, though he’d grumbled the entire time.

And Carissa had no idea.

Doubt suddenly gnawed at my gut. What if she hated surprises? What if this was too much, too soon? Fuck, what if she still wanted to leave?

I shook my head, banishing the spiraling thoughts. No. Carissa had agreed to stay and give us a chance. And I was going to show her exactly why that was the right choice.

The bell above the door chimed as I entered. Carissa’s scent hit me immediately—vanilla and cinnamon layered with the earthiness of old books. She leaned over the counter, backend of a pen scanning along whatever legalese she read through. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, the strands catching in the late afternoon light.

Gorgeous.

Her head whipped up, and I basked in the genuine smile that split her face. “Torain!” She glanced at the register clock, eyebrows shooting together. “You’re early. Way, way early.”

I crossed the room in two strides and pulled her against me. “Missed you,” I murmured, nuzzling into her neck and breathing deeply.

She melted into me for a moment before startling at a particularly loud burst of music filtering through the windows. “What is happening out there? Did I miss the memo on another event?”

“Sounds like trouble.” I fought to keep my expression neutral. “Want to check it out?”

She hesitated, eyeing the stack of papers. “I really should finish?—”

“The paperwork will still be here in an hour.” I wiggled my fingers. “Come on, sugar. Live a little.”

Her expression softened. She placed her hand in mine, letting me tug her away from the counter. “Fine. But only because you’re impossible to ignore when you get that look.”

I pressed a quick kiss to her temple and pulled her toward the door. “Smart woman.”

We rounded the corner, and Carissa gasped. The entire town square had been transformed. Colorful banners hung between lampposts. A small stage had been set up at one end, where the band was testing their sound equipment. Local vendors hawked their wares from decorated booths. Even Vanin had set up a small bar, advertising “Bookworm Brew” with a sly wink in our direction.

And everywhere, signs proclaimed “Save Spines & Spirits!”

“What...” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What is all this?”

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